


Letters for a madman

by Taphe



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Drunken Confessions, Letters, M/M, Pining, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-29
Updated: 2020-08-29
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:40:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26183575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taphe/pseuds/Taphe
Summary: Bruce has been trying push himself to send letters to Jerome with little to no success....This ficlet is set in s4 of Gotham, around the time Bruce started drinking and partying.
Relationships: Jerome Valeska/Bruce Wayne
Kudos: 38





	Letters for a madman

Do you remember the night you turned the city lights off?

I do.

When the lights first turned off, it was a bit nerve-wrecking. I had full faith in Alfred that he would protect me from the demons in the darkness. That everything would be fine if I was with him, but then I saw you emerge out of the darkness; Lumbering over to us in your white clothes. Letting low chuckles out in a demeaning manner. You monologue your plan for a bit, explaining how you came back to life and how were going to kill me right in my own home because that’s the last thing you remembered wanting to do before you died.

I expressed my disappointment, explaining how showmanship is your greatest talent, and yet, you were going to kill the “Prince of Gotham” in his own home and nobody was going to witness it. This feigned disappointment resided close to the fear in my heart. I forget how much smarter you are compared to your followers. Charisma oozed off out of you, but you’re one manipulative bastard. Unorthodox and chaotic. Yet so intelligent.

Strangled snarls left your stretched lips, commanding your buffoons to kill my guardian. I protested the command, but you didn’t listen as usual. I would be lying if I said this wasn't terrifying, but it was. It was extremely terrifying. You were dead! And now here you are, in my house. In my Manor. Threatening to slit my pretty pink throat…

You bastard.

My week was already soured enough as it was but being kidnapped by you was the tipping point. Shoving me into a chair was one thing, but to paint my face... I felt insulted, but... I would never admit it out loud, but you did an amazing job on my face paint. You didn't have to stab that poor follower of yours, he believed in you. You didn't have to smear his blood on my lips as a replacement for paint...

... You could’ve smeared yours instead.

Remember when I told you there were good people in Gotham? There are. There are a lot of good people, great people even if you looked hard enough. They’re there, but most of them are shoved into unfortunate situations by people like you and killed off.

Your laughter at my remark seemed to be hysterical, but you raised a good point. Ordinary citizens abide to your call and started attacking each other. Tearing down the city limb from limb, and that hurt. This city is my home, and it was killing itself because of parasites like you.

I stood my ground. Tried not to give into any of your chittering, and tried to get this over with... But then you just had to kill that poor man. You had to pick him up from his workplace and throw him into this hellhole. All for your sick entertainment.

I hated this entire experience. When the staples were being stabbed through my forearm, I stood my ground... Then I faltered. The pain was too much. You love my reaction though, you sick bastard.

I wished Selina and Alfred were there to hold me back. This inky darkness was beginning to billow in the depths of my brain as it once was when I was confronting Matches Malone. You wouldn’t know who he is, nor would you care. He was the sole focus of all my hatred and anger at that time. Now you are.

Do you remember the mirror maze?

I'm ashamed to admit that I've replayed that scene in my head so many times.

You purred my name out every time you turned around a mirrored corner. Snarling out threats and sending bullets my way in hopes of ending my life. Despite how charismatic and playful you are, you're just as destructive and sick as those other poor souls in Arkham Asylum.

So that's where I'll put you.

I'll put you there and protect my home from your reign of terror... And yet... That was the same day my heart processed this night and decided to make you my responsibility. When you told me to kill you, I screamed. I screamed so loud because I forced myself to pull away from that line you’ve been tempting me to cross. Frustration bubbled across my brain and I forced myself to not curl into your chest and cry. Not silently cry, but sob.

I hate you _so much_. I hate you for making me realize how much darkness resided inside of me, but at the same time... I miss you. I miss you too much for my liking. I did my best to repress any thoughts or memories that concerned you. If I knew that by doing that would amply my... Obsession... For you…Then I would have gotten help.

Bruce stared down at the letter with a blank expression. Listening to his heartbeat thud in his eardrums. Frustrated tears welled up in the corners of Bruce’s eyes, gripping the letter tightly, tearing the eight letter he’d been attempting to write to Jerome. After getting kidnapped and almost killed last year, Bruce thought that he would be over the redhead completely. Especially since he ordered his minions to shoot Alfred, but this infatuation… It felt foreign. Not in a way that he felt for Selina. This felt... Different. Sickly even, but here he was on his fifth bottle of liquor, writing to the man that attempted to kill him.

Many things could have happened in that mirror maze. Jerome could've stabbed him. Shot him. Kill him, but he didn’t thankfully. Bruce could’ve killed him as well when he straddled the redhead and held that shard of glass above him, but he didn't. Intoxicated, the young man grunted and stood up out of his chair; stepping over the unconscious girl and making his way out to the bedroom.

Bruce took a step into the dark room, letting out a small hiccup and burp into the empty bedroom. He crossed the room and fell face first into his silky black sheets, taking in the musky scent left in his bed sheets. It took a few moments for the young man to realize his patio doors were wide open, allowing the wind toss around his white curtains, but he quickly disregarded it in favor of staring aimlessly at the ceiling.

Bruce ran his hands up the bed, burying them underneath the pillows and pulling them close to his head. The young man sat up and threw off his dirtied turtleneck, tossing it to the floor just before falling back onto the bed. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted a damaged envelope sitting on the nightstand.

"What the..."

He picked the envelope up and raised a tired eyebrow, squinting to read the sloppy writing. Bruce’s name was on the front with a small smile next to it. The young man lazily tore the envelope open and pulled out the paper, laying down to unfold it. His eyes bore across the large lettering, reading:

_'Do you remember me?_ '

Phantom laughter echoed inside of Bruce's head after reading the (what looked like) Word Art. Bruce let out a tired chuckle, feeling the heavy tears start sliding down the sides of his face. He dropped the letter off to the side and rolled onto his belly, hugging a pillow tight to his chest. Letting the drunken blackout sink in once again.


End file.
